


The Attican Inititive

by seikaitsukimizu



Series: S.A.M. (Simulated Alternate Multiverses) [2]
Category: Mass Effect Trilogy, Mass Effect: Andromeda
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Banter, Biotics (Mass Effect), Canon-Typical Violence, Explicit Language, Forgiveness, Love/Hate, M/M, Mass Effect 2: Lair of the Shadow Broker, Minor Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-07
Updated: 2020-10-07
Packaged: 2021-03-08 02:20:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,782
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26868046
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seikaitsukimizu/pseuds/seikaitsukimizu
Summary: The Nexus, a Citadel-lite station in the Attican Traverse located in the Sentry Omega cluster. They had an artificial intelligence, built by his father, as the station’s main operating system, and had used it to actually get the Mass Relay realigned and connected to the surrounding systems again. From there they launched assistance and defense of remote colonies in the Traverse and even some of the Terminus Systems. Colonies that had no support from the Citadel or the Council races.And then everything went wrong, and Scott Ryder was left as abandoned as the station.
Relationships: Male Ryder | Scott/Reyes Vidal
Series: S.A.M. (Simulated Alternate Multiverses) [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1892863
Comments: 2
Kudos: 15





	The Attican Inititive

Scott Ryder took the last shot of whiskey from the bottle before tossing it over his shoulder. It clinked and clanked but, like the others, didn’t shatter because in the Nexus nothing shattered. SAM wouldn’t allow it. SAM wouldn’t allow a lot of things. Wouldn’t allow him to rewatch old archive videos. Wouldn’t allow him to skip meals. Wouldn’t allow him to forget basic hygiene. 

_ “Scott, you have not showered in eleven days, fourteen hours, and six minutes.” _

See? He couldn’t even wallow in exile properly. “I can’t offend your chemical sensors.”

_ “Though I cannot take offense, I have noticed the efficiency of life support air filtration has dropped approximately three percent.” _

He snorted at that. “Nice to see you’re finally getting sarcasm.” He licked the taste of whiskey from his teeth before sitting forward in his seat. He was in the main security office, at the Attican Protection and Extraction--APEX--command desk. Every other console was dark. There wasn’t anyone else here, but SAM kept the area illuminated for him out of courtesy. He didn’t have to and Scott appreciated that in this, at least, he had thwe AI’s support. 

He ran his hands over the controls absently and shook his head. He could feel his hair tickle the back of his neck. Probably time to give himself another haircut. “One more review of Green files.”

There was a judgmental silence.  _ “You have reviewed the Green files three times in the last eight months.” _

“Fine, then the  _ Blue _ files.”

_ “You have reviewed the Blue files five times in the last eight months.”  _

He grit his teeth. “SAM, I’m doing this.”

_ “You should not be.” _

He hit the console with his palm. “Show me the files, damnit!”

Ignoring him, SAM continued with,  _ “Perhaps you’d like to check your messages? You have received three new messages from your sister this month.” _

He collapsed back in his chair, letting it roll with his weight and he groaned. “Not this again.”

_ “She’s worried at your lack of replies, Scott.” _ There was a brief hesitation.  _ “I worry as well.” _

He let out a long sigh through his nose. He swore that time helping his mother with her illness resulted in SAM learning all her mother henning techniques. “Look, you keep Sara informed. She knows I’m alive.”

_ “You are functionally alive, Scott. She has expressed concerns, however, that you are not, in fact, living your life.”  _

He slapped his hands over his eyes, rubbing them against his sockets as his armor clacked. He didn’t need to wear armor. It was only supposed to be for missions, or inspections. He still wore it every day. Still  _ slept _ in it sometimes. It wasn’t comfortable but it was...it was all he had.

That and this station and files. So many files of how it’d all gone wrong. 

_ “Her latest message includes details about a new Prothean dig site that the Asari have never let non-natives examine. It appears she’s obtained permission to invite you to aid in its protection.” _

Shutting his eyes he pointed to the ceiling. “One, don’t read my mail without permission. It’s rude.”

_ “I apologize-” _

“And two,” he let his arms drop and stared at the ceiling. “I know. I know Sara’s got a dig. She’s got a dig, Kandros has a company, Kesh has a kid, I  _ get _ it SAM. Everyone’s moved on.  _ Everyone _ can function better than me. Especially her.” He shut his eyes again. “Dad always thought so,” he muttered.

_ “Your father was very proud of you and your accomplishments.”  _

“Would’ve been nice if he ever said that instead of fucking dying for me.” He couldn’t help the bitterness in his tone.

_ “Scott…” _

He let out a growl and rolled the chair back into position. “Just let me look at the files, SAM. Let me find out how it all went to shit because...because…”

Because this was Alec Ryder’s legacy. The Nexus, a Citadel-lite station in the Attican Traverse located in the Sentry Omega cluster. They had an artificial intelligence, built by his father, as the station’s main operating system, and had used it to actually get the Mass Relay realigned and connected to the surrounding systems again. From there they launched assistance and defense of remote colonies in the Traverse and even some of the Terminus Systems. Colonies that had no support from the Citadel or the Council races. 

They made inroads with the more hostile races, even finding a strange non-aggression with the Batarians and delivering regular trade to Omega and distant Illium who initially viewed them as interlopers. They had even begun to deal with the Geth on behalf of the Quarians. 

For someone like him, who’d grown up on the Citadel, building an illegal sister station to expand its diplomatic and security mission was perhaps the first time he actually found himself eager to work with his family.

Sure, his father had higher expectations for him than anyone else, and there were the usual whispers of nepotism, but he let his unofficial N7 training, biotics, and success rate speak for itself. 

Then came the disaster with the Collectors, and losing three whole colonies.

Then APEX and Pathfinder--the diplomatic--teams went AWOL, some showing up with raiders against their own clients.

Then Cerberus invaded Omega, and the Nexus did nothing.

That’s when the accusations started: funding irregularities, potential ties to the terrorist organization, ships and crew vanishing only to reappear sporting Cerberus’ orange and white colors.

The Citadel sent Commander Shepard, the first Human Spectre, to investigate. To this day it was still a mystery how and who set the bombs off all over the station. Shepard was nearly sucked out into space in a hull breach. 

His father wasn’t as lucky. Especially after giving his helmet to his son to replace the one damaged by the explosion.

In the end they shut down. Kesh left with the first wave, her stubborn nature and Krogan endurance used to bully amnesty from the Council. With Shepard’s backing she got it.

Sara left with the last wave. She gave him a hug, whispered, “It’s not your fault,” and begged him to return home.

He couldn’t. He had to find out what had happened. Kandros stayed with him, helping him do patch jobs with the station and wire SAM’s systems with perimeter defenses and fight off scavengers until they set up a deterrence shield. Five months later, though, even the former head of security looked him in the eye and said, “It’s over, Ryder. We should go.”

It was tempting. They’d spent three weeks digging through files and couldn’t find what they needed. It was exhausting and frustrating and there were some nights Scott just stood on the command deck and screamed.

In the end, though, the Attican Initiative was his father’s legacy. His  _ family’s  _ legacy. Scott couldn’t bring himself to leave. So Kandros left him as well. 

He had enough supplies to last for years. He  _ would _ get to the bottom of what happened. If he had to re-review every file a dozen times. A hundred. A  _ thousand. _ He had to know who and how and  _ why _ .

_ Why _ his father had to die like that.

_ What _ was the actual truth of their inaction with Omega.

And, as much as he hated to admit it,  _ where _ would he go? The Initiative had become him, become his  _ life _ for five years. He’d been a soldier before that.

He...wasn’t sure he was anything without it.

He put his head down on the console, resting it on his arms. “Just let me look at the files, SAM,” he asked plaintively. “Just...one more look. Then I promise, a shower and an MRE.”

_ “Scott-” _

“Fine,” he huffed out loudly, “a shower, a meal, and a nap.”

_ “Scott-” _

“That was my final offer-”

_ “Scott-” _

“SAM, this isn’t a negot-”

_ “I’m detecting a perimeter breach in the docking bay.” _

That had Scott jerking to his feet. “What?!” There shouldn’t be anyone there. Spirits, no one even had the  _ codes _ to get past the shields unless… “Is it Sara? Or Tiran?”

_ “Identification markings are unknown. However, their armors do not conform to either Pathfinder or APEX models.” _

“Shit, fuck, shit, fuck,” he chanted. His helmet was back in the Director’s Office, which he’d turned into his personal quarters. He had his visor on his belt along with his M-5 Phalanx pistol. He grabbed the X5 Ghost assault rifle--a gift from Kandros, before he left--and ran towards the tramcar. “SAM, lockdown everything. Make sure your mainframe is sealed and firewalls are up.”

_ “I have done so.”  _ There was a pause.  _ “They have activated a jammer device. It is likely they are intending to hold Docking Intake and adjacent locations. Before the field was initialized I detected sixteen lifesigns. Human.” _

Scott practically slammed into the wall of the tramcar as he tripped over the threshold. With a grunt he planted his feet and selected the dock’s hydroponic gardens. It was far enough away that hopefully they wouldn’t be there when he arrived, with enough planters and trees that he had cover if he needed it. “Sixteen only? Easy.” He checked his weapons. Both fully loaded, which was good. 

He only had one extra thermal clip, and almost no medigel in his armor. He took the few minutes in transit to tighten the joint connections. It appeared it was a good thing he’d kept to wearing it after all. He slipped his visor on and set it to dark-vision mode. “Cut all lights in Docking Intake and beyond. Any of the defense systems operational?”

_ “Negative. The bombs in the Multicultural Center and The Vortex were quite effective and you and Captain Kandros did not rebuild them.”  _

“What about the docking bay? I thought we’d fixed those?”

There was a moment of silence.  _ “It appears they were remotely deactivated, like the shield in the docking arena.” _

Scott kicked the wall of the tramcar. “Fuck! Okay, okay, we got this.” He flared his biotics. “Can you send a narrow-beam transmission to Tiran and Sara, just to be on the safe side?”

Another pause.  _ “It appears all transmissions are being blocked by a Geth transceiver. I will attempt to override it.” _

Which meant someone who’d either dealt  _ with  _ the Initiative, or someone  _ from _ the Initiative. SAM had helped reverse engineer Geth jammers. Which meant anyone could also  _ make _ them. At least SAM had said lifesigns, so he wasn’t dealing with Geth.

Not that he couldn’t, but he’d have preferred hardier armor. 

_ “Scott, a third jammer has just been placed. Its field ends at the entrance to the hydroponics.” _

It’d be close, then. Scott crouched and ducked to the sides of the door. “Silent entrance, SAM. No arrival noise or lights.”

_ “Confirmed. Arriving now.” _

As promised, the tramcar arrived and its internal lights terminated. The doors swished open with a whisper. There were no shots or sudden movements. He glanced outside. His visor was a dull narrow blue beam across his eyes, like the emergency lighting. If he kept to the floor people wouldn’t even realize what it was until they were dead.

Hopefully.

Seeing the coast was clear he shuffled out silently. He had the option of moving to the second level or taking the direct path out. The second level might give him a good overview but it would also leave him exposed given that half the railings were missing. Scowling, he crept forward, keeping behind planters and trees.

Halfway through he finally got a clean look at the entrance to the hydroponics. There was one guard. The symbol on his back showed a half-circle divided in the middle, with angled handles on the edge. Cupped between the curves was a solid oval with a small square cut at the top-most part, looking like insect mandibles or ridiculously short Salarian horns.

It was the solid color of blood red. It was also very, very familiar to Scott.

“Outcasts,” he hissed. Not seeing anyone else, he rushed forward, activated his omniblade, and stabbed the target in the back through their heart. There was a brief gurgle as he yanked them down behind the massive hydroponic tree that served as the entrance gateway and flipped the target around.

A man missing one eye and tattoos over that half of his face. Not someone he immediately recognized. Their lips formed one word but blood dribbled out instead of sound. 

Scott felt his hands tremble, and he wasn’t sure if it was rage or something else. Something he’d tried to block for two years. 

No, he told himself. He had this. He checked but the omnitool was a simple radio. He was about to scan it for the frequency when he heard voices and ducked to the tree on the other side of the entrance. His brief glimpse revealed two more armor-clad humans carrying some device between them. A jammer, most likely. 

“Pissant job,” the woman grumbled. “Have to work in the dark and for what? Few measly credits.”

“Least it’s easy work,” her companion replied before crossing the threshold. “Hey, you see Bron?”

“Probably taking a shit,” the woman replied, activating her omnitool flashlight and casting it about. It landed almost immediately on the dead man’s legs. “Get up you lazy-”

The man’s omnitool light had just lit up, enough for Scott to see his eyes widen as the man saw him crouched there. His omniblade was silent but even as it sliced through his neck he was slamming down on his wrist.

The woman spun and, unlike the other two, she got her shields up before he could take her out. “What the fuck?!” She dropped the jammer and pulled out a pistol. Scott rolled back and ducked behind an empty planter as she shot at his feet. “I found the bastard! Bron and Tye are dead!”

So they were there for  _ him. _ Their mistake. A few quick commands on his omnitool overloaded her shields. She yelped but before she could duck he had his Phalanx in his hand and a bullet between her eyes. 

Three down. 

He heard lots of movement. Feet pounding, shields powering up. Subtlety wasn’t going to work any more, but the darkness would. They weren’t wearing helmets. He saw at least a dozen people turning the corner. 

His biotic power enveloped him, lighting him up in the darkness as he took a deep breath. He knew his glow was going to attract them to his location but he just needed a few seconds to weave the dark energy around and out. Through the planters and trees and  _ there _ , the Outcast soldiers began to have a blue sheen. There were cries of surprise and a few panicked shots at the aura he was giving off.

His shields took damage, but he focused beyond the center of them, to the man at the far edge of the group. It’d been a while but he still knew how to do this. With a vicious grin, he brought his arms back and  _ charged _ right through them, slamming into his target and sending him flying as dark energy exploded around him at his impact. The bodies flew away. Some didn’t get back up. His pistol made short work of the rest.

Fifteen down. “Easy,” he whispered.

Which is when he heard the whine of a grenade. He spun around just in time for his newly regenerated shields to be blown apart. He covered his face with his arms and fell back but didn’t roll. Which didn’t make sense. He was aiming to roll. With a heave and a grunt he realized he was stuck. A sticky grenade. “Fuck!”

Well, only one intruder remained, right? That shouldn’t be too hard. Except he heard more shouts. Plural. Three, four...a half dozen voices. He snarled and activated his omniblade, slicing through the deteriorating material. He just got his legs free when flood lights activated. His visor adjusted automatically. He wasn’t surrounded yet, but at last seven people were barrelling down on him, more behind the lights. “Shit, fucking shit!” He finally got his ass unstuck and rolled into cover, pulling out the Ghost as he heard weapons being cocked. 

Well, they wanted a fight? He’d give them one. He was almost ready for another burst of biotics. 

“What’s the matter, Ryder,” a voice taunted from on high. “Can’t take us on without your big sister leading the way?”

Scott’s eyes narrowed. He knew that voice. “Kaetus.” His biotic shield was up as he peeked out from cover. Ignoring the few rounds fired at him he searched the area.  _ There _ . On the balcony outside the Multicultural Center’s second floor. A Turian in blue armor with white lights, cyan blue markings on his gold-flecked carapace. 

A snarl escaped him and he fired at the soldiers around him, killing them or making them dive away so he could march out. He manipulated the mass effect fields to surround him and he took a leap up, ready to  _ charge _ again. He’d take that bastard out once and for-

The air around him electrified with the smell of ozone and eezo. His entire body spasmed as the port in his neck electrocuted him. The cry was involuntary as he fell back to the ground seizing. By the time he got control of himself his arms were behind his back, some wire about his wrists, and they had yanked him to his knees. Even panting with blood running from his nose, they had an omniblade at his throat and three guns aimed at his chest.

Smart. Even with a biotic suppression field he could be lethal. He squeezed his hands into fists and jerked at the bindings. Metal, probably some sort of titanium cable. At his action he felt another cable wrap around his elbows, tightening his arms together painfully. This...wouldn’t be so easy to get out of. 

Kaetus had made his way down by then, was walking over and, at his nod, the woman with the omniblade stepped aside. His mandibles flared. “Two years I’ve been looking forward to this, Ryder.” His subvocals were pleased and smug. 

Scott sneered. “All this for me? I’m flattered, but you’re not my type.” The slap was expected, and the talons scratched across his cheek close enough that he nearly lost his eye. There was an aura of rage in the Turian’s yellow eyes. Scott met his gaze and bared his teeth. “Fine. You got me. Now what.”

“Now I’m going to take from you what you did from me.”

Scott blinked once, then twice. “Sloane? This is all over an accident?!”

This time the Outcast grabbed him by the throat. “You shot her in the back!”

“She got in the way of my shot!”

“Bullshit! Your orders were to slaughter us all and destroy the Outcasts!”

“Well shit job I did,” he spat back. “You got your little gang!”

The mandibles snapped and he was thrown away. The soldiers behind him let him fall so his head struck the ground. Kaetus’ taloned foot slammed against his ribcage and pressed down to keep him in place. “You killed her,” he accused, “arrested me, and  _ slaughtered _ the rest.”

Scott wheezed at the pressure. It wasn’t quite like that. The Outcasts were a new raiding group, put together by Sloane. She had been part of the Initiative, along with Kaetus. Until it was discovered they were using their positions to intimidate concessions and tributes from their charges. They had run off before they could be arrested, so his father had stripped them of their rank and belongings.

A month later the Outcasts had emerged. Shortly after that was when APEX and Pathfinder teams began vanishing or defecting. Security was increased on the Nexus, but it was an issue for months.

Sloane the Pirate Queen wasn’t quite as good as she thought, though. Omega’s Aria T’loak certainly didn’t like another bitch in her territory. The local Blue Suns and Eclipse gangs were always on her tail. Worst of all was the Shadow Broker, who sent his best agent to undermine her quick-growing organization because she refused to play his ballgame.

Said agent, the Charlatan, had nearly caused open warfare on the colony world of Horizon. The sixty civilian casualties was enough to get even the Alliance interested in the situation. So the Charlatan had proposed a duel, him versus Sloane, for control of the Outcasts. 

This was only after the Charlatan had somehow incapacitated Kaetus. Sloane turned around and offered the Initiative a deal. She’d stop harassing Nexus clients if they backed her up. Scott wanted to say no, but Sara and Alec were all for it. So he and his sister went. When the Charlatan appeared--

Well. Sara called out a sniper and moved to protect Sloane. Scott took aim and fired. Unfortunately, Sloane had moved to do the same, right into his line of sight.

He’d shot her in the back of the head.

That...broke him a little. Enough that he almost let the Charlatan get away, shooting him in the back as the man hopped onto a shuttle.

Alec took the opportunity to deal with the Outcasts. It wasn’t a massacre. They were given the chance to come quietly. Most of them simply...didn’t. And his father, N7 trained, was never one to give mercenaries a second chance.

In his own reflections on what went wrong, he sometimes wondered if that was what  _ really _ triggered the Citadel to send a Spectre. The Outcast purge was the bloodiest engagement they’d ever had, and the spillover had affected a lot of other gangs.

It was a  _ lot _ of bodies.

And Scott made it happen with one bullet.

The Outcasts were murderers and thieves and drug pushers. His job that day, though, had been to  _ protect _ Sloane, to maybe bring an end to the raids peacefully. He didn’t regret her death. He regretted how it happened, and what followed. He also regretted the Charlatan.

He hadn’t expected someone to obsess over it two years later. Well, someone other than  _ him _ .

“It was an accident,” he coughed out. “Her shit response put her in friendly fire.”

Kaetus, one foot still on his torso, knelt down to look him in the eye. “And I’m going to return the favor.”

Scott felt his brow furrow. “You’re...gonna shoot me while stopping a sniper?”

“You’re going to tell me where your sister is and watch as I execute her,” he grabbed Scott’s chin, “before I execute you.”

Scott snarled. “Fuck that! I’m not telling you shit!”

The grin was pure malevolence. “Good,” he said, pulling out a Talon pistol from its holster, “I was hoping to draw this out.” He took casual aim at Scott’s shoulder and pulled the trigger.

Close range with no shields, it tore straight through his armor, straight through his shoulder and, from the feel of it, possibly straight through his bone. He bit his tongue to stop from crying out but still fell back, heaving air through his nose and trying to stop the pain. What little medigel was in his armor was activated to seal the wound. It wouldn’t heal it, though. Just stop him from bleeding out.

Which, as he saw Kaetus’ grin grow, was exactly the point. “I’m hoping you’ll make it a long, slow,  _ excruciating _ process.”

Panting through his mouth he spit at the Turian’s face. “You won’t break me, fucker.”

His mandibles flared. “I’m sure you believe-”

A gunshot interrupted him, and the sentry standing to his left fell to the floor, a bullet through their head.

Kaetus reared up, his shields activating. “Who was that?!”

In answer, another series of shots rang out, and the Outcasts began dropping like flies.

“Cut the lights,” Kaetus ordered as he and his men took cover. 

Scott wasn’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth. No biotics and hands bound, he smothered the scream as he rolled over and forced himself to his knees, then to his feet as the lights went out. He took two steps before a bullet went through the meat of his calf and this time he did let out a yelp as he fell to a knee. 

“Secure him!” Scott tried to push to his feet but three sets of hands grabbed him. He struggled but one just punched him in his wounded shoulder and the world greyed out. He found himself lying against a planter, his ankles bound with the same titanium cord and three Outcast bodyguards around him. 

Kaetus was about ten feet away ducking behind a crate of spare metal Tiran and Scott had left there, not really needing it for other portions of the Nexus. It was providing ample cover, unlike the three guards who fell one. By. One.

All perfect headshots. Scott would admire the skill except he wasn’t sure if he was next on that list.

He noticed, as did Kaetus, that there wasn’t any more shooting. There was, in fact, silence. With a strangled sound, the Turian activated his omnitool and input some commands. Half the lights came up, revealing all of the Outcasts dead. Scott tried to count. At least twenty more, maybe thirty. A rumbling sound was emanating from Kaetus.

Which was when the system PA activated and a low, accented chuckling was heard. Even with no words, Scott knew that voice.

So, it seemed, did Kaetus. “Charlatan! You’re a dead man!”

**“Reports of my death have been greatly...well, you know the saying,”** echoed around them. 

“So where are you then, afraid to face us head on?”

**“I do tend to work best in the shadows.”**

Another growl, and Kaetus risked leaving cover to grab Scott’s ankle. Not the wounded leg, thankfully, but then he screwed it up by dragging Scott over the ground so he was behind cover too. 

Scott was choking down swears along with pained cries. His shoulder and his leg were oozing blood from the armor and his ribs, he realized, were likely bruised. “The fuck,” he finally hissed.

“I’m not losing  _ my _ prize to that bastard.”

Great. He was stuck between two sociopaths. One who had the power rip his heart out and one who would shoot him. 

Maybe it would be better to just run out into the open and get it over with.

After forcing Scott into the place where he wanted, Kaetus scanned the room. There was nothing more from the PA, and no further gunshots. With an annoyed clack of his mandibles, the Turian finally called out, “Why are you here, Charlatan.”

**“Well, you know I can’t resist a party.”**

“So what, you heard I was coming to take out the last Pathfinder and you wanted to do it yourself?” There was a deafening silence. “No, you  _ know _ this Pathfinder, that was the rumor. You came to save him, didn’t you.” It wasn’t a question. Scott suddenly found himself dragged to his feet, held in front of Kaetus as he walked out of cover. “Try anything and your little Pathfinder,” the Talon pistol was against his temple, “is dead.”

It wasn’t a chuckle so much as a dark laugh this time.  **“What makes you think I’m here to** **_save_ ** **the Pathfinder?”**

He felt Kaetus freeze behind him, which was all that was needed for a gunshot to ring out and Scott felt his chest explode in pain as something slammed into his armor, shattering it. 

He’d been shot.

He’d been  _ shot in the chest! _

He fell back and Kaetus let him drop to the ground, heaving at his breastbone ached, as he struggled to breathe. The world swam as the last reserves of medigel tried to mend the wound.

There was a snarl above him. “You fucking Charlatan! I’ll murder you!” 

A bullet danced in front of Kaetus’ foot and he hopped back.  **“You honestly care if he lives?”**

“I need him to  _ suffer _ ! He killed my mate!” He was turning wildly.

**“You mean Sloane?”** The tone was casual, almost dismissive. 

“Who else?!” His yell echoed around them. “I’m going to murder his sister before his eyes and then tear them out of his head!”

**“How very Outcast. Tell me, though, why the other Ryder?”**

“Because she’s just as responsible!” 

**“Hardly. She was the only one trying to protect your Queen.”**

Another snarl, another wild turn. “It was a ruse!”

This laugh was mocking.  **“Nice to see after two years you’re still a fool.”**

Kaetus roared and began shooting wildly. Scott tried to curl up to avoid stray shots but he was still struggling to get air as his lungs ached. The shooting paused, and then there was a loud sharp shot followed by cursing as Kaetus dropped his weapon, hand bleeding. 

**“Both Pathfinders,”** the Charlatan announced,  **“genuinely wanted to protect Sloane. It was disgusting, their earnestness.”**

Clutching his hand, Kaetus glared at the darkness. “So you’re saying he’s innocent.”

**“Is anyone innocent?”** There was a beat of silence. “ **Sloane’s blood is on this Pathfinder’s hands. It was beautiful really. I’ve savored that moment, the look of realization on his face after it happened. It’s helped me through many a night’s recovery. After all,”** there was a dramatic pause,  **“he** **_also_ ** **shot me in the back.”**

Kaetus’ uninjured hand curled and uncurled, then he slowly straightened, turning his attention back to Scott. “So…”

**“So you can shout at me, the villain who set up your mate. Or you can take your revenge on her killer.”**

The mandibles spread wide and, for a moment, Scott could see the predator species the Turians evolved from. He tried to push away but he couldn’t even move at this point. 

With slow steps, Kaetus approached him, pulling a knife from his armor’s boot. “And then?”

**“Well, we** **_do_ ** **have unfinished business. I wouldn’t be opposed to another duel.”**

Kaetus shoved Scott onto his back and knelt with knees on either side of his legs. Scott pulled futilely at his bonds. “A duel, huh,” he said conversationally, using his injured hand to hold Scott’s head still. “Counting to ten?”

**“I was thinking three. I rather like the beat of one, two-”**

There was the brief sound of a tactical cloak and then a gunshot over Scott’s head. “Three.”

Scott bit back a yelp as Kaetus suddenly slumped on top of him, blue blood and brain matter dripping onto his face. A second later the body was kicked off of him and rolled over. There were two more gunshots. 

Scott couldn’t help but gasp, “That necessary?”

“Making sure he won’t get up again.” And then there was the Charlatan, squatting over his head. Perfectly parted black hair, beautifully dark skin, piercing golden eyes, and those lying, treacherous lips curved into a smirk. “Having fun, Pathfinder?”

“No,” he spit out. “You shot me.”

“With an impact round.” The man set aside his weapon and activated his omnitool. He frowned after only a minute. “Hijo de perra.” He dug into the pockets of his armor and pulled out a medigel pack and slotted it into the emergency port against Scott’s thigh. “Never taking care of yourself.”

Scott let out a hiss as his armor started distributing the gel and numbing his pain. “Fuck you! That’s not your concern. And you  _ shot _ me!”

“Just returning the favor,” he replied, turning back to his omnitool to continue scanning him. “At least mine won’t leave a scar.” The smirk was back. “I wear it proudly. I didn’t think you would shoot a man in the back.”

On instinct Scott yanked at his bonds and let out a small howl at the pain. “You bastard,” he panted. “Just untie me or kill me or whatever you’re going to do.”

“So you can take a swing at me and hurt yourself more? Not yet. Let’s let the medigel do its work first.” 

“Like you care,” he muttered.

“If I didn’t care, Ryder, I wouldn’t have come.”

“You just wanted your shot at Kaetus.”

“True. I also wanted to make sure you’d survive.”

“Well congratulations. You got both,” he ground out. “Now get the hell back out of my life!”

“Hm, no. I think I’m done running.”

“What, you want to put more blood on my hands?”

The Charlatan lowered his arm then and the omnitool went dark. “I said that to distract him. I needed time to get into position. He was very clever about his own cover. And I’d run out of ammunition for the sniper rifle.”

“Doesn’t make it less true,” he spat back.

The man’s smirk turned into a frown, and he gripped Scott’s chin, far more gently than Kaetus had. “You’re a good man. It was an accidental shot, and what followed was bound to happen eventually. You’re not responsible for anything but doing your job.”

“Failing my job,” he replied, “and falling for your lies.”

“It wasn’t all lies,” he replied. “You know who I really am.”

“I knew who you pretended to be.”

“I wanted to tell you the truth.”

“So why didn’t you?”

The man’s gaze actually left Scott’s eyes. “I liked the way you looked at me,” he replied softly. “I was afraid that would change.

There was a squeezing feeling in his chest that had nothing to do with his wounds and he tried to stomp it down. Unfortunately it wasn’t working. He swallowed. “Why wait so long?”

“I needed to recover.” The smirk was back. “You’re a very good shot.” The smirk faded. “Then the Citadel sent a Spectre and,” he shrugged, “it seemed like I’d bring more trouble that you didn’t need.”

“I needed you,” escaped unbidden, and he bit his lip, cursing himself.

The Charlatan looked into his eyes again, and Scott found himself wanting to go back to before the duel. To when the man was just a simple smuggler informant, when they would occasionally share a whiskey and witty words. When the man took him to the highest point on Illium and shared a view of the undeveloped parts of the garden planet at sunset. When they laid beneath the stars and spoke of what brought them beyond Citadel space in the first place.

When Scott Ryder fell a little in love with Reyes Vidal. And he’d hoped Reyes Vidal was just a little in love with him, too.

“I shouldn’t have stayed away so long,” the Charlatan finally replied, pulling out another pack of medigel and smearing it on his gloved fingers. Scott flinched when the cool gel was spread on his face, though because of the temperature or because of the delicate touch he wasn’t entirely sure.

“Shouldn’t have come back, either,” he said quietly.

The fingers trailed down and traced around his neck, easing the ache from the bruises there. It felt intimate, and Scott fought with his instinct to tilt his head back. The last time he had, the Char--Reyes had kissed him there, tender and gentle and he’d trembled at the sensation.

Reyes had never been gentle. Scott liked that about him. That night he knew their time together was different, that it meant something more to Reyes, to  _ them.  _ Looking back Scott now knew the man was savoring their last time together, maybe saying goodbye. The duel was only a few days away. A few days before Scott knew the truth and Reyes’ anonymity as just a third-rate smuggler would be gone.

A few days before Scott shot him in the back, so angry and betrayed he wanted the man to suffer.

And still in love enough to pull the killshot at the last second. 

When the Charlatan pulled his hand away Scott swallowed. He was physically better, the medigel infusions meant he could fight if he had to. He was also helpless, trapped in bonds, with a man he absolutely shouldn’t trust.

Except he sort of did. 

With a second swallow he said in a quieter voice, “Untie me.”

There wasn’t any hesitation this time. The omniblade formed along the Charlatan’s arm and he used it to carefully slice through the two turnings of titanium cable around his ankles. Scott could see the man brace for a kick, but when none came he relaxed.

Scott thought about striking him anyways. It was a close call. “Help me sit up,” he said in a stronger voice. 

The Charlatan did so, easing him upward and stopping each time Scott sucked in a breath. The medigel worked miracles, but couldn’t completely numb him without incapacitating him. He wasn’t willing to give this man the run of his station.

The bindings in the back took longer. It felt like sawing more than slicing, but eventually his upper arms screamed at him when they were released, and he realized as he whited out briefly that his left arm had a serious injury. There was another curse he didn’t catch before he felt another layer of medigel start sinking into his limb, numbing the pain. He hissed, “No.”

“Your ulna is fractured,” the Charlatan replied sharply. 

“And I need to be sharp enough to kick your ass,” he yanked his arm forward, ignored the needle of pain that caused, and cradled the arm for a moment before looking for a weapon.

“After I saved your life? I think you’ve forgotten how to show your appreciation.”

“I’ll appreciate you,” he growled, then scowled as the Charlatan chuckled. “Shut up.”

“I didn’t say anything.” 

Scott did kick at him then with his uninjured leg, but it was only a half-hearted attempt to get the man’s ankles as he walked away. He returned a moment later, holding out Scott’s Phalanx pistol. Grinding his teeth, he snatched the weapon back and checked the ammo count. He had seven shots left. Enough to defend himself with.

Now he needed to get that biotic dampener turned off. It was giving him a migraine. Unfortunately, the Charlatan sat down across from him, his own pistol drawn at his side. Scott recognized the M-11 Suppressor. An Alliance weapon used by infiltrators, specially designed to make close-range head-shots. It was also highly illegal outside of the Alliance military. He wasn’t even surprised the Charlatan was able to get one.

Squeezing the grip of his own weapon, Scott tilted his chin up. “If you’re about to talk about your feelings, let me just shoot you right now.”

The Charlatan snorted and holstered his pistol. “Too late.”

Scott fought the flush that he could feel trying to spread on his cheeks. “I don’t regret it. You’re a bastard.”

“But a handsome one.”

The man was infuriating. He rested his chin on the palm of his hand, his elbow resting on his knee. And he had that insufferable, arrogant,  _ happy _ smirk of his that drove Scott crazy. He pointed at the man’s face. “Why?!”

The smirk transformed into a grin. “You shot me in the back, Scott.”

“So?!”

“You didn’t shoot me in the head. I know your capabilities. Even in your worst case of shock, you easily could’ve made it. And you didn’t.” He winked then. “That’s how I knew you still cared,  _ carino. _ ”

With a roar he jerked forward and punched the man, only to fall flat and clutch his fractured arm to his chest shouting, “Fuck, fuck, fucking fuck!”

The Charlatan was there, rolling him over so he was on his back. Scott hurled the same curse stream at him for a minute before he finally had to bite his lip and activated his omnitool. The numbing sensation of a high dose of medigel spread almost immediately, but he was still in incredible pain.

Stupid. He shouldn’t have thrown a punch with his dominant,  _ injured _ arm. 

“Feel better,” the Charlatan asked, reaching up to rub his injured cheek. 

“No,” he spat back, “you’re still a bastard. You broke me!”

He knew the Charlatan knew he wasn’t talking about his arm. “I didn’t expect you to be there. If I’d survived I promised myself I’d tell you. Even if the Broker would kill me for it.”

“You used me!”

“I used the Initiative. You were a bonus.” He grabbed Scott’s other arm as he surged up to hit him again. “At first, you were a bonus. Then you became...important.”

Scott seethed. He could break out of the Charlatan’s grip, but might hurt himself more in the process. So he let his uninjured arm be restrained. “So important you kept lying to me.”

“I had my own rules to follow,” the Charlatan pinned him with his gaze then. “The Shadow Broker doesn’t allow agents to reveal themselves. I was  _ the _ agent in his arsenal. And  _ he _ would’ve murdered you to keep my secret.”

“So you did it to protect me,” he sneered, not believing him.

“I did it because I  _ did _ like the way you looked at me.” The Charlatan released his arm and sat back on his haunches. “It was afterward I learned what my personal promise would have meant, would have  _ cost. _ ” He looked away then. “I stayed dead for two years, hiding.”

“So why come back now? Not for me.”

“You’re certainly worth the risk, Scott.” There was a familiar fondness in his voice. “And I’m not lying when I say coming here  _ just  _ to save you, to stay with you, is very tempting.”

“Who says I still want you,” Scott bit back.

He should’ve expected the kiss. The firm cradling of his head, the protective grip to ensure his arm wasn’t further injured, the scent of whiskey and ship oil and leather all rolled together that he’d packed into a box in his mind labeled  _ Reyes _ with big  _ Do Not Open _ stickers all over.

A box that he couldn’t ignore as his eyes shut and he grabbed the front of Reyes’ jacket, holding him in place as he returned the kiss with fervor. A million alarms were going off, telling him to push the man away, that this was another ploy, another way to be  _ used _ . 

But it’d been three long months alone.

And two longer years with nothing but his hand and fading memories.

And that awful part of him with terrible taste in men  _ wanted _ to be used if it meant he could have  _ this  _ again _. _

Reyes broke the lip-lock just long enough to say, “I think you do, Scott Ryder. I think you still want me as much as I want you.”

“Fuck you. You know shit.” Then he yanked Reyes back and continued their kiss.

It was wonderful. It was like they  _ were  _ back then, before the duel. For just a few minutes Scott let himself believe because dammit, he deserved a moment of bliss. 

Then he let go of the man’s jacket, picked up his pistol, and pressed it against the Charlatan’s sternum. There was a brief pause before the kiss was broken and the man sat back on his haunches, squatting in place. “Scott…”

“You didn’t just come here to save me,” he said levely. “You admitted it.”

The Charlatan put up his hands. “I didn’t actually say-”

Scott pressed the muzzle of the weapon further into the man’s chest and he went silent. “No more lies between us. Not if you want to live.” 

They both heard the unspoken, “Not if you want this to work.”

The Charlatan seemed to size him up. “I’m here for the Nexus.” Some of his smirk came back. “You’re a bonus.”

Scott nearly squeezed the trigger then. Instead he jabbed the weapon hard enough the man toppled back. Scott scrambled to his feet and stood over the Charlatan, aim now dead set on his heart. “I’ll do it,” he growled.

The Charlatan looked Scott directly in the eye. “I never doubted it.” 

“Then stop fucking around.”

He let out a long sigh. “Still so difficult, carino.” Scott was about to snap back when the Charlatan activated his omnitool. “PeeBee, deactivate the biotic dampener.”

_ “You got it.”  _

Scott had enough time to think,  _ Shit,  _ before his entire body flared blue and he felt a rush of dark energy strike his nervous system. He managed to hold onto the gun but lost his footing and nearly fell except, again, the Charlatan was there, holding onto him, keeping him upright. 

He tried to shake the man off but he couldn’t. Not while his body was re-acclimating to its natural state. His amp tingled, almost painfully so, and still the Charlatan stood beside him, stabilizing him, grounding him. It took almost five minutes before he could shake his head clear, and by then his entire body was aching and his arm  _ and _ shoulder were throbbing in sharp pain. 

He was still, however, armed. Not that he needed it now. He bared his teeth but before he could say anything the Charlatan said, “A sign of good faith.”

“A sign of ‘I can fuck with your body anytime,’ don’t bullshit me. It was a power move.”

“We’ll destroy it,” the Charlatan promised. “Better yet, you can destroy it.”

“So I’ll trust you?”

“So you’ll believe me.”

“Like hell.”

The Charlatan led him over to one of the area’s many benches, surrounded by dead bodies but otherwise clean. “Then what,” he finally asked after helping Scott sit and taking the seat beside him, “would it take?”

“Turn of the scramblers and get the fuck off my station.”

The omnitool activated again. “Can we get the scramblers down?”

_ “Yeah, I hacked in a while ago. Hang on.”  _ It was the same woman’s voice from before, young, energetic, but a touch of jadedness to the tone. There was a moment of silence, then,  _ “Okay, you’re clear.” _

“SAM, do you read,” he called immediately.

_“I do, Scott,”_ came from his own omnitool.

“How fucked am I?” The Charlatan raised an eyebrow at that, but Scott knew SAM would get the message. 

_“There are currently forty-one corpses between your position and the docking bay.”_ Scott raised his own eyebrow back at the Charlatan. Okay, that was more invaders than he’d been expecting. _“There are also currently six additional life signs on board. A Krogan and Asari are at the docking bay. A Turian has taken a defensive position on the upper level of the Multicultural Center balcony. There is a Salarian and Human currently attempting to access my system status. And Reyes Vidal is sitting next to you.”_

“I also have another human on board my ship. A medical doctor. Who we’ll be seeing after this.”

“No, who  _ you’ll _ be seeing when I kick you off my station.” 

The Charlatan was careful when he held the palm of his injured arm. “What I’m about to tell you is only known to a select few.”

“I don’t car-”

“The Shadow Broker is dead.”

That stopped Scott short. That was... _ not _ what he was expecting. He also couldn’t fathom the political implications of that. His mouth bobbed open and closed a bit. “Did...you-”

“No. And it’s more a hard suspicion than anything else.” He was careful to meet Scott’s stunned gaze. “Approximately six months ago the Shadow Broker’s entire personality changed.”

Scott felt his brow furrow. “That doesn’t mean-”

“They asked for status updates across the board. He reactivated ‘dead’ agents, including me.” He tightened his grip on Scott’s hand when he tried to jerk it away. “I told them I wasn’t interested. And you know what they responded with?” Scott scowled but didn’t reply. “They said they needed the Charlatan to help take down Cerberus.”

“Doesn’t mean it’s a new Shadow Broker. Doesn’t mean anything.”

“There are other indications,” he added vaguely. “I asked why I should go active. After all, I was dead. What did I care what Cerberus did in the Traverse.” He leaned forward then, and Scott mimicked the action unconsciously. “They said they were going to finish the job they started on the Nexus. Starting with you.”

Scott blinked once. Twice. Then, “What?”

“They paid the Firefighters to plant undetectable bombs on the station. They funded the Outcasts to steal or murder your APEX and Pathfinder team members.” His voice lowered to a whisper. “They used the Terra Nova Commonwealth Bank to hide their payments.”

Scott knew of TNC Bank. It was the primary--only--financial institution that had branches in the outer colonies and Attican Traverse recognized in Alliance space. It was also, he vaguely recalled, responsible for helping fund the Nexus with Cord-Hislop Aerospace. Which meant those rumors of Cerberus ties were, inadvertently or not, true.

And the Nexus had never stopped using them. The most common account of Nexus personnel was with TNC. The company had a dedicated bookkeeper just for Nexus projects. Which, he realized with mounting horror, meant all the information  _ he _ had on record could just be falsified data.

It also meant they might’ve been pulling the strings to stop any assistance from going to Omega when Cerberus attacked. 

His father’s legacy, his family legacy, was built with terrorist funds.

“Shit.” His voice was leaden at the implications. 

“I didn’t give a varren’s ass about the Nexus,” the Charlatan continued, “but I wasn’t going to let them kill you.” He reached up with his other hand and touched Scott’s cheek. “I couldn’t.”

Scott swallowed. “Why?”

“You know why.”

Scott shook his head slightly. “Say it. Out loud. I want to hear it.”

A finger traced the curve of his ear. For a second he wasn’t actually sure the man could admit it. It took a full minute before he said in a heavy tone, “I love you, Scott.”

Scott took a deep breath. He tried to call out. He couldn’t. He took another breath and tried again, actually saying, “SAM? Your analysis?” The Charlatan frowned at that.

SAM, however, only took two seconds to respond.  _ “There are no traces of deception in tone or facial musculature. It appears Mr. Vidal is telling the truth.” _

At the Charlatan--at Reyes’ look, Scott forced himself to roll his eyes. “You can’t blame me, can you?”

“Not really.” He cupped the side of Scott’s face. “I came back to save you, but nothing is free with the Shadow Broker, new person or not.”

Scott let himself enjoy the touch for a moment before pulling his head away. “So now that you’ve saved me, you’re going to take my station.” 

Reyes lowered his arm. “Now that I’ve saved you, I’m hoping you’ll listen to my proposal.”

“I’m not that kind of girl,” he shot back.

Reyes let out a short laugh. When he finished he was smiling, an old look that Scott easily recognized. “Oh, I’ve missed you, Ryder.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he grunted, then forced himself to his feet. “So tell me this proposal.” He glanced around at the bodies. “And help me clean up.”

Reyes stood next to him. “How about I bring you to my ship and my very cranky doctor can make sure you won’t pass out in the next ten minutes.”

Scott narrowed his eyes. “He meets us at Docking Intake, and if you sedate me I have SAM space all of us.”

Reyes’ smirk returned and he offered to take Scott’s uninjured hand. “Deal.”

Scott’s entire body ached, but he ignored the offer and shuffled his way around the corpses. “SAM, keep everything on lockdown until I say otherwise.”

_ “Understood, Pathfinder.” _

“We could go to the Nexus infirmary,” Reyes chimed in behind him.

“None of you assholes are getting anywhere else in my station yet.”

He just knew the man was holding his hands up in mock surrender. “Fine, fine.” There was a moment of quiet, then, “Drack, you and Vetra are on clean-up duty. PeeBee, collect the deployed equipment to be destroyed. Gil, you two stand down. And Ryota, I need you and your kit at Docking Intake.”

Of the various responses, Scott registered a Krogan grunt, an annoyed muttering, and a cranky,  _ “On my way,”  _ at the very end. “Interesting group,” he puffed out.

“Even dead a man needs to make a living. They’re a few strays I picked up doing so. Except for Drack. Kesh decided I needed a bodyguard even while dead.”

That stopped Scott in his tracks and he took a wobbly spin on his heel. “Kesh  _ knew?!” _

“I was just as surprised as you.” When Reyes threw his uninjured arm over his shoulder and started moving them again Scott was too gobsmacked to protest. “The old coot threatened to eat me then proceeded to kill a hit squad sent by Cerberus.”

“Why didn’t she…” 

“In fairness, he showed up five months ago, after I’d reappeared.”

And the last message Scott had received from Kesh was four months ago, a message he’d deleted because the last three were calling him a pyjak and demanding he come see her and Vorn’s kid. He could’ve known  _ four months ago _ about Reyes.

He would kick himself, but he was injured enough. 

At Docking Intake he spotted a human with a face like he’d sucked on a lemon standing beside the customs table. He was shorter than either him or Reyes, and was definitely of asianic descent. Besides the rather large medical kit laid out on the table, he looked like any other smuggler in the Traverse. As soon as they were in range the man activated his omnitool, beginning a scan on Scott without even asking first.

“Scott Ryder, meet Doctor Nakamoto.” He deposited Scott on the edge of the table. “I helped him out of a spot of trouble with Red Sand and he deigned to join me.”

The face turned even more sour. “You threatened to shoot me,” was the clipped reply. 

Scott glared at Reyes. 

Reyes shrugged. “He’d helped produce a new more potent strain of drugs.”

“It was medical research.”

“Funded on Omega. What did you think would happen?”

The doctor’s shoulders slumped but he kept on working. “I  _ thought _ they’d want all the help they could get for their people.”

Even Scott knew that was naive. T’loak cared for her own crew, but didn’t give a shit about the rest. After all, there’d always be downtrodden drawn to her hub. Or there would’ve been, before Cerberus’ invasion. His brow furrowed. “Wait, you’re not talking about the Oblivion strain of Red Sand-”

At that the doctor dropped his arms to object. “I didn’t know about Cerberus’ ties! Or their plans!”

Scott didn’t mean to wince but he couldn’t help it now. Not after the implication of the Shadow Broker’s information. “Yeah,” he replied, “I know that feeling.”

“Ryota has been helping Red Sand addicts and supporting free clinics across the Attican colonies. Rumor has it,” Reyes added amusedly, “he’s funded by the Charlatan.” Scott noted that he and Nakamoto shot identical unamused scowls at the man. 

Finally, the doctor muttered, “People need help. I can help them.”

“And with luck, Scott, you can help us on that mission.”

Scott held his scowl as he edged his way up so he could sit on the table. “ _ Luck _ nothing. You try to guilt me, I’ll blast your leg off.”

“Ah, that’s the diplomatic spirit of the Initiative I remember.” Reyes leaned against a nearby intake desk and crossed his arms. “No sedatives, doctor. Do what you can.”

“Yeah, yeah…” Nakamoto held out his hand expectantly and after a moment Scott extended his fractured arm. He winced as a portable osteo-regenerator was strapped on.

Scott swallowed, but finally set his weapon aside and pushed back his feelings. Now he needed to be a Pathfinder first. Not Scott Ryder, exile and disgrace. He pinned Reyes with a firm look and saw the Charlatan mask slip on in response. With a subtle nod, he ground out, “Talk.”

The Charlatan seemed to scan him over with his eyes, before he finally cleared his throat. “Doctor?”

“Yes, I’m a deaf idiot.” Scott could tell Nakamoto was rolling his eyes as he did something to his shoulder that made Scott wince. “Cut out my tongue if I talk, I know the routine.”

“You do like routine,” the Charlatan joked before he turned his attention back to Scott. “As I said, I need the Nexus.”

“And I’m the bonus. What do you need it  _ for _ ?”

The Charlatan’s omnitool projected a map of the galaxy. “Cerberus has begun a coordinated effort to consolidate a number of clusters in the Traverse, along with the Omega Nebula.” The projection zoomed into the clusters in question. While Omega was in the Terminus systems, there were four clusters in the Attican Traverse that had an orange circle blinking around them. Another five clusters--two in Terminus, three in the Traverse--had red circles . 

Scott frowned. “How’d they ever get such a big fleet to stage this?”

“Cord-Hislop Aerospace is another Cerberus-funded company.”

Another nail in the Initiative’s coffin. Scott shook his head. “Okay, so,” he lifted his uninjured arm and traced the clusters. It was definitely in a specific shape, if the red circle clusters were future invasion points. “They’re surrounding Geth space.”

“They’ve always had three goals: humanity at the top of the galactic order, traverse the Omega-4 relay, and-”

“The elimination of the Geth threat.” Scott shifted his gaze from the map to the Charlatan. “Why Omega first? It has to be the most difficult target. Especially if it’s taken them over a year to launch this next wave.”

“Without Omega, the Traverse is cut off from the Terminus systems. Travel to the other side of the galaxy now requires going through Alliance space.”

“Making the aliens in the Traverse rely on the discretion and good-will of humanity,” Scott murmured. 

“And pass through numerous locales the Broker suspects holds Cerberus spies and agents.” He pointed to the four clusters under assault. “The Omega Nebula is taking most of their resources, but at least thirty-percent of their fleet are here. And without Nexus support-”

“The locals aren’t organized or militarized enough to fight them off.” Scott could read the situation. Unless they encountered heavy resistance soon, the terrorist group would hold five entire clusters, a territory nearly the same size as the Outer Council Space. “They could declare independence.”

The projection vanished. “I wouldn’t be surprised. The Broker doesn’t think they’ll be so brazen.”

“And you?”

“I suspect Cerberus will be ringing in the new year with the announcement of the Argolis Cascade.” Scott raised his eyebrow at that and the man shrugged. “For the last six months my team may or may not have been acquiring intel from Cerberus sleepers in the Hades Nexus.”

The last cluster on the edge of the galaxy that led to the Perseus Veil and the Geth homeworld. Right next to Sentry Omega, where the Nexus was. “So why didn’t they strike here this round?”

“From what I’ve been able to establish, they want Hawking Eta and Caleston Rift locked down. They’re direct relay routes between Omega and Alliance Space.”

“And there’s no direct relays to Omega from Council space without travelling through the Nemean Abyss.” It was a good strategy. It would keep Omega isolated and protected from the strongest militaries in the galaxy.

“Not to mention there are quite a few people who are still friends of the Nexus. Any fleet heading your way would easily be spotted and you’d be alerted.”

And both Scott and SAM were willing to sacrifice the station if it meant saving it from being used by terrorists. Without the station all that was left was Virmire, and it was suffering radioactive fallout from Shepard’s mission there years ago. “But if they hold Hawking and Caleston, they could come here before word was raised. So why the Outcasts?”

“Kaetus was a gambit. They knew he could sneak into the system unnoticed. If he succeeded into taking the station-”

“SAM would have blown this place up.”

“The Firefighters were very good at their job.” The Charlatan glanced up. “Tell me, SAM, how effective would your self-destruct protocol be?”

Scott held his breath. He hadn’t even considered that the bombs were more than just strategic placement to cause maximum damage. If they had a  _ purpose,  _ that he and Tiran had never even thought about…

It took almost a full minute, then with a reluctant voice SAM replied with,  _ “Current self-destruct models indicate an 66.4% chance of total torus destruction and a 92.8% chance of ward-structure survival.” _

The ward arms of the Nexus were the most complicated and time-intensive aspect of the Nexus. The torus--the circular bridge between the arms--could easily be reconstructed. With his good arm he punched the table surface. “Son of a bitch!”

Turning his attention back to Scott, the Charlatan added, “I may have let some infiltration codes for the Nexus be...procured by Kaetus. It was a perfect backdoor for me and my team to follow.”

Scott glared at him, then looked to the ground. Cerberus carving out their own section of the galaxy was dangerous,  _ too _ dangerous. If they got the colonies and resources from Siguard’s Cradle and Hades Nexus, they’d have the capacity to challenge the Citadel fleet.

Somehow, Scott wasn’t willing to bet they’d focus solely on the Geth. 

“So your proposal,” he said slowly, “is to put the Nexus under your control. And what, wage a war? Like you tried to stop last time?”

“Last time was different. I didn’t want civilians threatened.” The Charlatan stood up straight. “Cerberus has started a war with civilians. Some with...morally dubious careers, but some just trying to survive. A duel won’t stop them.”

“But the Initiative will?” He couldn’t keep the derision from his voice. “It worked so well last time.”

“The Initiative is dead.” Scott flinched. “This is just...a Collective of individuals who want the Traverse safe from racial supremacists. Maybe we’ll be a peacekeeping force afterward. Maybe we’ll be the new Omega.” Scott looked up as the man approached. “We need a base of operations. The Nexus is perfectly located.”

“So why don’t you take it.”

“Because I promised myself I’d never take anything from you again.”

That wasn’t the Charlatan who replied. Scott looked up and found Reyes looking back. He let out a shaky breath. “I’m just a bonus,” he quoted. 

“I want you to be my partner.”

He swallowed. “In business?”

“In whatever you wish to give me.”

He sucked in some air and looked away. That was...too much. He took a couple deep breaths before saying, “Even if I wanted to, even with the...the Broker’s money, how would we even get started?”

A gloved hand brushed the hair away from his forehead. “How about trusting me enough to let us bring you to the Infirmary.” He glanced at Reyes from the corner of his eye and saw the man looking behind Scott. “Your shoulder needs surgery. Your ribs need healing, and your leg barely supports you.”

His fingers trailed down and lifted Scott’s chin so their eyes met. “Trust me to take care of you.”

Something lodged in Scott’s throat. “You’re still a bastard,” he choked out.

“As long as I’m your bastard, carino.”

The laugh was short, sharp, and just a touch manic. He leaned forward, resting his forehead against Reyes’ chest and shut his eyes. Within seconds his breathing was synced up with the man’s and Scott embraced it. Inhaled it. 

Him and Reyes.

Pathfinder and Charlatan.

Nexus and Collective.

Everything was screaming at him that it was wrong. 

He couldn’t find it in himself to care.

“I have terrible taste in men,” he finally grumbled.

There was a gentle kiss on the top of his head. “The worst.” There was a grin in the reply.

“SAM, authorize tram destination to the Nexus Infirmary. Nothing else.”

_ “I understand.” _

“Worried I’ll take over?”

Scott leaned back. “Partners,” he accused. “You’re going to wait until I’m bitching at having to lie in bed while recovering before we do anything else.”

There was a chuckle mixed in with a sigh and shaking head. “Such a difficult man, Scott.”

“You like it. Now help me to the tramcar before I change my mind and shoot you after all.”

“So demanding,” he said fondly as he brought Scott’s good arm around his neck and wrapped his own around Scott’s waist. “Sometimes I wonder who the greedy one in our relationship is.”

“Two years changes a man.” He slid off the table and let Reyes support most of his weight. “You want my station? I’m gonna be as greedy as I want.”

“Well then,” Reyes said, ducking his head close to whisper in his ear, “I’ll start looking for some storage rooms you can use to have your wicked ways with me.”

Scott growled as he felt himself get half hard at that. “You fucker.”

“You love it.”

Spirits help him, he honestly did. 

**Author's Note:**

> Unbetaed and only my second foray into the ME:A fandom. Kudos and comments are always appreciated.


End file.
